The Infomercial Hour
by ghettopeach
Summary: Chandler's date didn't go well, so Joey tries to cheer him up. But there are some problems even Quick & Brite can't fix. Season 2, JC.


Chandler sat in the leather recliner, letting the sounds of a food processor infomercial wash over him. "It slices! It dices! It even cuts through concrete!"

_Great, _Chandler thought. _Maybe it can finish off what's left of my ego. And then I can send my testicles through, because it's not like I ever need _them _for anything. _

He watched as an unusually well-endowed blonde woman lifted up a small concrete block. "So I just put it in here?" she said.

"That's right," said a man in a chef's hat, lifting the lid off a food processor. "Just stick it in and push the button."

"'Just stick it in and push the button,'" Chandler mimicked in a Muppet-like voice. "That sounds easy enough. It would take a _real _idiot to mess that up." He slumped forward, clutching his head in his hands. _My God, I _am _that idiot._

Joey walked in, his hair rumpled and eyes bleary. "Chandler, what are you doing?"

Chandler shrugged, gesturing toward the TV. "Well, I was just—"

"Wow!" said the blonde, holding up a sliver of cement. "It just cut right through the concrete!"

Joey squinted at the TV. "Why would you need a food processor that can cut through concrete?"

"You know, I found this really good recipe for turkey and gravel," Chandler said. "But then it turns out that it was actually turkey and gravy."

"Oh," Joey said. He thought for a moment and grinned. "That would be kind of cool though, you know. Bust through some concrete just for laughs. Like, 'Yeah, I have a _manly _food processor. You want a piece of me?'" He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.

_No one wants a piece of me, _Chandler thought. Aloud, he said, "Yeah, then maybe we could cut through Rachel's brownies."

Joey laughed and thumped Chandler on the chest. "That's a good one, man!"

Chandler forced a grin. "Yeah." He stood up and switched off the TV. "Well, I guess it's time to head off to bed and dream sweet dreams of miracle grout cleaner. No scrubbing! Who would have thought?" He laughed nervously. "Seriously, who would have thought? Well, good night!" He went into his room and shut the door behind him.

Joey knocked and opened the door a crack. "Hey man, you all right? I mean… it's infomercial hour. Did the date… you know?"

Chandler sighed, settling back on his bed. "Joey… am I ugly? Or boring, or romantically inept, or sexually inadequate, or in some other way undeserving of love and affection?"

"No!" Joey sat down on the end of the bed. "Chandler, where's this coming from? Did she say these things to you? Because I'll beat her up for you."

"Right, because that will cement my reputation as a manly man. 'Hi, I hire my friends to beat up girls for me! Not only do I beat up girls, I'm not even strong enough to do it myself!'"

"Look, hey, calm down. I'm just saying, you know?" Joey lay down next to Chandler, propping himself up on an elbow. "So what happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened." Chandler rolled over onto his side.

"All right. I understand. You don't want to talk about it, that's cool." Joey put a hand on Chandler's shoulder. "But if you've got something you need to talk about, I'm right here."

After a few moments, Chandler spoke again. "Joey, can you keep a secret?"

"No." Joey leaned back and thought for a minute. "Well, I don't know. No one's ever asked me to. I think everyone thinks I'm a dumb loudmouth who doesn't know when to shut up."

Chandler smiled in spite of himself. "Well… aren't you?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that's not exactly comforting," Chandler said. He turned over onto his back and sighed. "But I guess… listen, if you tell anyone, I'm sticking your head in one of those food processors. And I'm not talking about the one on the end of your neck."

Joey's mouth and eyes opened wide in an expression of pain. He curled up into a fetal position, his hands covering his crotch. "Okay," he said in a high-pitched, strangled voice.

Chandler stared up at the ceiling. "So after dinner, we went back to her place. And we were talking, and then we started… you know. But when it came down to it, I couldn't, well…"

"Raise the flag?" Joey supplied.

"Yeah," Chandler said, turning his head away. "Half-mast. So she got dressed and said that maybe I should just go home."

"Wow," Joey said. "That's intense."

"That's… never happened to you, has it?"

"Well…" Joey said. "I lie all the time. Not about keeping this a secret," he added hastily when he saw Chandler glare at him. "But about other things, you know, just trying to make myself look good. I mean, I don't want people thinking I'm inadequate."

"You mean like me?" Chandler couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Yeah. I mean, no! No, look, it's not like that! We're both the same."

"Really. Well somehow, I think that if _you _hypothetically went out to a bar after a failed date, you wouldn't get personally snubbed by fifteen different women. But wait, you wouldn't have failed anyway, because nothing ever gets stuck in _your _food processor!"

"Wait, what?" Joey looked confused.

"Never mind," Chandler said, sitting up abruptly. "The point is, you can't understand, because people actually like you, and you know how to respond to them, and so you're not going to wind up alone and unloved, forced to baby-sit your friends' children while your friends go out with their sexy wives or husbands, all because everyone knows you're a sad, lonely, pathetic person who couldn't get lucky even if you had a $100,000 life insurance policy and only one day to live!"

"Chandler, breathe!" Joey said, grabbing his roommate by the shoulders and shaking him. He felt Chandler quivering. "Hey… Chandler?"

"I'm not crying," Chandler said. "I'm not…"

"Right. Okay." Joey wrapped his arms around Chandler, pulling him close. "It'll be okay."

Chandler squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stop the stinging. Why was he sitting here talking with Joey about this? Tomorrow everyone was going to find out and laugh at him, or worse, feel sorry for him. He should've kept his mouth shut. Although as long as his life was falling apart, he may as well enjoy the hug, which was oddly comforting. He patted Joey's hand.

"It's all right," he said as soon as he felt like he had control of his voice again. "You don't have to do this."

"Don't worry about it," Joey said, ruffling Chandler's hair. "Hey, you know what the problem is?"

"No. Please tell me. I'm sure there's one piece of my ego that hasn't been totally shattered yet."

"Women are insane," Joey said. "I mean, here you are, this totally cool guy who's funny and smart and the best friend anyone could ever ask for, and they're just going to pass you up? Hello! That's, like, the definition of insanity right there!"

"Right," Chandler said. "I'm sure that if you looked up case studies of insanity in a medical journal, the first symptom would be 'Rejected Chandler Bing.'"

"Yeah, see?" Joey smiled and sat down so he was facing Chandler. "Now, if I was a woman, I'd totally grab you up. I'd walk right up to you and say, 'Kiss me, Chandler.'"

Chandler's lips twitched nervously; he wasn't sure whether it was safe to smile at that. "Come on, you're just saying that."

"No, really." Joey leaned in and put his hand on Chandler's shoulder. "You don't see yourself the way other people see you."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure we all just see a hopeless loser," Chandler said.

"Well…" Joey looked at him sadly. "That's not what I see. I mean, I know you don't believe me, and you're not going to listen to me because, well, I'm not a woman, but…"

"But what?" Chandler prompted.

"Nah, it's stupid. I can't ever get things to sound right. Forget about it."

Chandler nodded. That was probably for the best. It was late, and the darkness muddled his emotions. Things which would appall him in the daylight seemed perfectly normal now in this half-dreamlike state. He threw an arm around Joey. "Hey, thanks man," he said.

Joey nodded. He hugged Chandler back, and after letting go, he paused, his face mere inches away.

Chandler was startled at the wistful emotion in Joey's eyes. Then again, maybe it was just a trick of what little light there was. Probably. And the sudden racing of his pulse was simply one too many cappuccinos. He needed to cut back. Definitely.

Joey leaned in, then seemed to think better of it, and backed away.

_Kiss me, Chandler._

Chandler had no idea where the words came from—perhaps a recalled memory, or a whisper in the room, or from some need deep within himself. He leaned forward, and Joey met him halfway, catching him in a kiss.

Chandler felt Joey's hands on his back, and then supporting his head, drawing him closer. Instinctively, he responded in kind. His mouth opened, welcoming Joey's tongue, which probed gently at first, but gradually became more insistent.

The two fell backwards onto the bed, fumbling with each other's shirts. Chandler ran his hand up Joey's chest, and after feeling its flatness, began to panic. He wrestled himself away and backed up, hitting his head against the wall.

"Ow! Joey, what are we doing? What are we thinking? What, what, why? Why are we doing this?"

Joey sat up and tried to focus his eyes. "I don't know," he said. "I mean, didn't you…?"

"No! I don't know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"I know," Joey said. He got off the bed and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about it. It's no big deal."

"Right," Chandler said, his breathing slowing to a much calmer rate. "Right. Because nothing really happened."

Joey stared at Chandler for a long time, and finally nodded. "Right," he said. "Nothing happened."

"Thanks," Chandler said. He patted Joey on the shoulder, but withdrew his hand quickly, as though it were on fire. "Look, uh… see you in the morning?"

Joey nodded and headed for the door. "Yeah, all right." He looked Chandler in the eye, and Chandler tried to meet his gaze, but finally turned his head away. Without another word or glance backward, Joey shut the door behind him.

Joey plopped down in the leather recliner and flipped on the TV. He sat there for half an hour, listening to a man with very white teeth explain the merits of a dehydration unit, but he didn't hear a word.


End file.
